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goyta goyta goyta

My son says "goyta goyta goyta" all of the time. He has for months. He does it when he's playing with something, he will exclaim "goyta! goyta! goyta!" or have a conversation with a toy using the same babble-speak. I have no idea what this means to him, but it is apparently his favorite expression. I'm writing it down because in ten years, when he's fluent in regular English (as opposed to toddler English) I want to remember it. It's cute as hell.

I wish I could talk about The New Exciting Thing we're going to do but I can't. It's too new, but what I can talk about is how excited I am for our family. For my husband. It is going to be a wild and strange ride and neither one of us have any idea where it's going to go, but that's half the fun (who am I kidding, that's ALL the fun right there). It is what I thought about all night, and what I woke up thinking about this morning. There are so many exciting things about this, and I have zero anxiety about it. I have a healthy dose of excited fear, but that's it. This feels like the most right thing for us and even though some of it is going to be really hard and lots of hard work, it's going to be worth it.

 

Momma! Momma! Momma!

That's what my son now says as he points excitedly when I walk in the room. I know some toddlers say this earlier, and I guess he's made the "mmmm" noise before and it kinda sorta sounded like mmmmaaammmaaaa but now? Now, he gets it. I'm momma. It is awesome. He's trying to communicate with words more now, which thrills me to no end. I've said before I can't wait for him to talk, and maybe I'll regret wishing for it so much, but I really do want to hear what he thinks and hear his little voice and just get to know him that way.

This weekend, being Mother's Day weekend and all, we're having lunch with the Mother In Law on Saturday and then lunch with my mom and grandmother on Sunday. Can I just be tacky for a second? I'm a mom now, why can't I just do whatever the hell I want and not have all these damn family obligations? I know, I know, there are folks without mothers and grandmothers who would love to spend time with their families on Mothers day. I should be grateful and all that bullshit, but honestly, sometimes it's just one big gigantic pain in my ass. One obligation after another. That is what my extended family is to me sometimes, just one gigantic obligation. I'm sure I'm going to hell for feeling this way.

My son's daycare is putting on a Mom & Me type of tea party this afternoon - in honor of Mother's Day. I am STOKED. Granted, my son is only 18 months and won't know WTF is going on but it should be fun anyway. Plus, it means I'm checking out of work early. Yee. Haw.

i get so emotional baby

I have been having some serious mood swings as of late. Like, some days it gives me whiplash. A few week ago, I woke up for days in a row PISSED OFF. That was the mood I brought into my day first thing. Mad. Mad. Mad. And because I live with someone, he gets to be the target of my anger. Back in my single days, I would turn that anger inward like a good little Christian girl. Even though the husband was a target of my anger, I still held it in and just had the tiny hate-speeches inside my head, I never said the words outloud but it doesn't matter, because I knew it was there and I'm sure I was pleasant to live with because try as I might to keep that shit inside, I'm sure my energy and aura or whatever you want to call it made it pretty clear that I had hate thoughts running in a loop inside my head. I'm sure if I said those things out loud we could  have an epic fight and I could end up feeling like shit for being such a nagging shrew. And I'm sure some of my complaints are valid, but when you pile them up on the inside and let them fester the end result is rarely rational or productive. When I come out the other side and I'm waking up in a nice mood and things are fine and lovely I wonder why I let myself get so mad about such petty little things. Maybe it's hormones, like my raging PMS that used to plague me is back in full force. Sometimes I feel myself backtracking, letting whatever emotional wellness I had slip away and an older version of myself resurface. I used to think I killed that bitch, but I should have known better. She ain't dead, she's still there and some days I am better at dismissing her shrill screaming than others.

Recently my husband said I've been sad a lot lately. That I worry too much about things. I don't think I've been sad - I've always been quick to tears and I have a Ph.D. in Worrying About Shit I Can't Control -  so these aren't new things about me, but maybe it is just the first time he's let himself (or I've let him) see it. I don't know. But his words have stuck with me and I wonder what it is that makes me seem sad to him. I resolved myself, after he made this observation, to put on a happy face even when I didn't feel happy. Maybe that seems fake, but after fifty jillion 12 step meetings in my life, the motto: Fake It Until You Make It seems like a reasonable thing to do. And you know, I really am happy, when I scrape away the stress and exhaustion that comes with being a working mother, I am happy. We have a nice little life here, I just can't always see it through the grind of the every day. I'm fairly sure this is not unique to me.  

gender

I haven’t written about this because in some ways I kept hoping it would go away and I would not have to deal with it. But it’s not going away. It’s not going to be explained away by a medical doctor and take this drug and you will be right as rain have a nice day.

My niece has been saying she is a boy since she was three. Since before I really think she even understood what that meant. She is now almost 10. The gender talk has been consistent and steady and anyone who says “gender confusion” is quickly corrected, because that girl is not confused. That girl is a boy. Inside a girl’s body. And after lots of therapy and lots of doctor appointments and specialist and the wardrobe replacement from girl things to boy things, the decision to switch pronouns and start calling her “him” and using a male version of her given name, she is now going to start a drug that will halt puberty, so that she doesn’t begin to develop as the girl she insists she is not. The long reaching impact of this is so frightening that sometimes I simply revert back to old coping mechanisms and plug my ears and sing “la la la la ” because when I think about what it means for his future (and I’m switching pronouns now – FYI). What kind of experience will he have at school? What kind of life will he lead? Will he have gender reassignment surgery at the first reasonable opportunity? Will he decide in a few years that he’s a girl and go back to being she (this happens with 1 in 3 kids)?  Suicide rate among these kids is HIGH, so you know, how the hell does one keep this spirited child’s light shining? How do you support the family, the other siblings, the grandparents who struggle to understand, the great-grandparents who will never understand? The extended family that may also never accept or understand? What the fuck do you even say? How do you even explain it to people? And then I think, if I’m confused, just imagine how he feels. In a body that he doesn’t really like, or want, because it has the wrong parts. I’ll be honest and say that my relationship with him has suffered. We are not as close as we used to be and some of that is because I got married and had a baby, but there’s a tiny part of that shift that comes from my own fear about this thing that’s happening. I feel awkward in my relationship with him, and since I’m the adult, I need to get over it, but I am not always good at being an adult.

IE 9 Can Suck It

Ever since the auto update to IE 9 I haven't been able to post here. I have like five entries roaming around in my head and every time I tried to post - it wouldn't and I would get frustrated and log out because my time is limited. I finally went in and un-installed that update. Fingers crossed that it works this time. Geesh. Also, let me just say, I hate the way IE 9 moved the favorites and other buttons to the right - HELLO? - that was a stupid update. Years and years of having those things on the left and suddenly they want to move them, with no option to move it back? Eff off butt-holes.

Last week my husband and I had a conversation that turned into a fight because when my husband gets defensive he likes to take things and turn them around and make it about me. I hate that. And I really have to focus on keeping the conversation on topic and not let it devolve into some nonsense about how I'm a hypocrite. The conversation was about ... DINNER. No lie. About how he wants better / different / more well rounded meals. Ok, fine, that's great. I am on board. But don't just throw that out there and then bring nothing to the table in terms of ideas. You want better meals? PLAN THEM. Christ almighty. Just because we have many traditional roles in this house (he does the money and the lawn and I do EVERYTHING ELSE - well, not really - he does more than that it's just sometimes it feels like I do more.) doesn't mean he can't put a menu together or come up with some meals he wants. Hell, I'm willing to cook those meals, just give me ideas. Because I have the diet of a seven year old and will eat peanut butter sandwiches every night for dinner and call it good. In fact, may times as a single person, that's exactly the dinner I had for weeks on end. Last night, he took the bull by the horns and made dinner. Didn't take a survey to see if that sounded good to me, and you know what? It was awesome. If he had asked - "Do you want fish?" - the answer would have been "no!". The answer will always be "no" because I don't love fish and don't ever think it sounds good, but you know what? He made it and I ate it and it was good. It wasn't that hard. I don't know why he just doesn't do that more often. Just plan it and make it. If I was a full-time stay at home mom and part of my responsibilities included planning and executing every meal for dinner, ok, that's fine. But I am not a full-time stay at home mom. I work full time, I have two days a week where I work from home AND take care of our son, so those days are actually my hardest because I'm doing two full time jobs at once, so you know, help a sister out every once in a while. I do think that the division of duties in our home will always be the thing we fight about. Very original, yes? Seriously, if I list what I do and compare it to what he does, sure, I have more actual items, but I have to stop myself from doing that, because the things he takes care of weigh more. He pays all the bills and handles the money. That is more critical than, lets say, laundry. Both are important, but the power won't be shut off if I get behind on laundry, but if he gets behind on paying bills, the consequences are greater.

There's more going on and more crap I need to get out of my head but the clock is ticking and I have to get back to work. Damn adult responsibilities.

exhale

Finally. We are moved. The final walk-through at the rental place happens tonight but that's just a formality. We had the carpets professionally cleaned and hired a cleaning person to come in and give it one last good cleaning so we should get all of our deposit money back (fingers crossed). Oh and the story I need to tell about that cleaning person, but that bitchy rant is for another day.

The move itself was fine. The weather was kind of a pain in the ass, since it rained a little in the morning and then poured down rain most of the next day, but everything made it to the new house dry and in good shape. On Saturday, the day it poured down rain, I took a shower and when I got out, the floor was flooded. Seems there was a clog in the plumbing that required my husband (who can fix everything) to rent some equipment from Home Depot and clean that crap out. All in the rain. And it resulted in me having a little bit of a meltdown because I was tired, my kid was kinda sick (snotty and generally unhappy) and everything was in boxes and oh my god we have so much stuff and I just was so overwhelmed by everything. I am so glad I have a husband who gets me, who let me cry and be a baby about it without giving me shit or making me feel bad. He's a good man, I'm glad I married him.

On Friday, after the movers left and my husband and I took more loads from the old to the new house, we picked up the kid from daycare and brought him to his new home. Several times I almost cried watching him run around and point at things and squeal with joy. It's a memory I'm tucking in my pocket to carry around with me, because it was sweet and I just want to remember him like that. All excited that his toys were in his room and running around because we finally have space to move. And the backyard! Oh I predict there will be much time spent there, looking at sticks and rocks and opening the gate to walk next to the little creek that our house backs up to. I can't wait to make lots of memories here. I can't wait to do all the things you can't do as a renter. Want to paint a wall? DO IT. Want to nail fifty jillion pictures in the walls? GO! It's so liberating. Granted, I still have the basics to do, like unpack forty thousand boxes full of our stuff, but I don't even care. I don't care that our guest room is going to take months or even a year to get organized and finished. I don't care that there are boxes of clothes in our bedroom that need to be sorted through and purged out. Things that would normally make me nuts, like the fact that my pantry is still in boxes and when I cook I have to dig around to find shit, I don't even care. I haven't unpacked the pantry because I haven't decided how I want to organize it. In the past, I was always so concerned about just getting crap out of boxes, I never really put much thought into how it works best, I would just shove shit in there and think to myself that one day I'd organize it, but then I never would and the lease would be up soon and I'd have to move so I'd toast myself with a big glass of fuck it, and carry on. Not this time though. This time, things are staying right where they are until I can figure out where I really want them. The difference, in part, is the fact that we have space. We have a formal dining room with no furniture, so boxes can stay stashed in there until I can figure out how to best put them away or if I even want to put them away. It's made this move in so nice. To not worry about where things are going RIGHT THIS SECOND because I have time. We are going to be here for a long time (God willing) and it's been nice to just exhale and wait. And while I'm waiting to figure things out, I am enjoying the hell out of this home of ours.

All of my dreams are coming true. And it is frightening and exciting.

Divorce

On the world wide web this week a blogger I have been following for years shared that she and her husband have separated. I don't have any opinions about their marriage, I mean, they aren't people I know in real life so who am I to speculate on the inter-workings of their home life? It's really just made me think about the impact divorce has in a long reaching sort of way. My parents have been divorced since 1987 (they were married for 20 years) and I think back to what it was like at first, and all of the usual things happened. Lines were drawn. A villain was cast. Fortunately (I guess) my sister and I were old enough to hop in a car and go see my Dad whenever we wanted. We didn't have a whole custody thing, it just wasn't necessary. Even though my Dad played the part of the villain, in all honesty, as far as divorces go, my parents was pretty clean and tidy. It was only  years later, well into my own self absorbed adulthood, that details started to spill out and I learned things about my parents that I didn't necessarily want to know. You would think that the biggest impact to our lives would occur at the beginning. My Dad moved out. My Mom cried, a lot. And my sister was angry that her senior year in high school had been hijacked by my selfish parents. But where I really feel the effects, where it interrupts my life and makes things complicated, is now. Not when I was 16. Divorce sucks because it forever requires the children involved to choose. Christmas: Mom or Dad? Thanksgiving: Mom or Dad? Want to have a birthday party? Do we invite them both? In my case, the answer is yes, invite them both, because my parents do not have a vicious hate for one another, or if they do, they keep that shit to themselves, as they should. And it's not just the holidays that are complicated. Although that is where I generally feel the effects most often. When my son was born, I wished it could have just been my parents there, and not my step parents too. That sounds so shitty doesn't it? But it's not like I grew up in a house with these step parents. I was in college when my parents remarried, so like it or not, they are really, in my head, My Mom's Husband and My Dad's Wife. I call them both by their first name. I don't feel especially parented by either one, although my step dad did at one point in my complicated young adulthood counsel me and try and help me navigate my emotional terrain, but that's more because he's a minister, and that's what he does, than because I am his step daughter. There are times, even now, 25 years later, that I resent the hell out of their divorce. Not because I want them to be together, really, because I never had those "My parents will get back together" hopes and dreams, but I resent it all the same. When people with children get divorced, it changes everyones lives. Forever. Not just in the short run when it comes to who lives where and who gets what. But in the long run too. They will always have to choose, no matter how you try and set it up so they don't, at some point, in the quiet of their own home, they will have to choose.

Forty

Yesterday I turned forty. It is kinda tripping me out. Not because I'm getting old (because: duh), it's just weird to me that I'm forty. I remember when my parents turned forty and if memory serves, it's when they both lost their goddamn minds. So I'm looking forward to that. Heh. Actually, I lost my mind a long time ago so I am ahead of the game. I keep thinking that when my parents were this age they had teenagers and had been married for 20 years. WEIRD. I've been married 3 years and I have a 1 year old. And I'm about to buy a house for the first time. We sign the papers today at 1pm. I think once we leave with keys in hand my husband will finally be able to exhale. We have worked really hard the last two years to get to a place financially where we can buy a house. We spent time and money cleaning up our credit reports and my husband spent hours trolling real estate sites looking for the perfect home in the perfect neighborhood. The housing market is such that we got an unheard of interest rate, fixed, for 30 years. The home we'll own as of today needs love and attention, but it is by no means what I'd call a fixer upper. I was wary of buying something that would require loads of work, my husband likes to transform things and remodel things, and fix things up. I was worried he'd find something that would be so outside my comfort zone in terms of condition that it would cause tension between us. But I worried for nothing. We could move into that house today if we wanted to, nothing is so bad or needs so much work that it's unlivable. We won't move in right way, we still have to give notice where we live now and while the house is empty my husband wants to get the inside painted - so we'll take a few weeks to get that stuff done and then start the process of moving all of our stuff that is crammed into this house into a bigger space. I dread the moving and packing process, but I always do, so whatever. I'll get over it. I want to use this move as an opportunity to purge things in our home that we don't use, that we haven't unpacked since we moved here two years ago. In fact, I'm looking at a filing cabinet right now that will have 90% of its contents trashed. I never open those drawers and there are probably 10 things in there worth saving, everything else is just nonsense that I've not parted with because sometimes I am secretly a hoarder in training.

In baby news, I guess my kids not really a baby anymore. I think he qualifies as a toddler. So strange. When I look at him I still see a baby and I wonder if this is how my parents feel when they look at my sister and I. We're still babies, even though we are in our forties. (!) Being a parent is not easy work, at least it's not for me. I think maybe it's not easy for anyone. There are aspects of parenting that are second nature, but on the flip side, there are aspects that test my patience, that feel counter to how thought I would be, and that push me to an edge that I wasn't even aware was there in the first place. The things I thought would come naturally, do, but the things that trip me up, always surprise me. I always knew that being a mother was my thing and if I won the lotto tomorrow I would ditch the 8-5 job and do the stay at home mom thing. I'd probably have some other job too, but it would be secondary.

Speaking of jobs, oh my sweet LORD BABY JESUS. Things are spinning out and I am so tired, tired, tired of hearing that we will just have to figure out a way to mange the volume the best we can because no help is budgeted for 2012. Um, look, when everyone on the team has an average of 20 projects and my coworker and I have 65+ - there is  fucking problem. And I feel like a broken record saying it over and over again to my boss and her boss that we need additional resources. The load is such that when I look at it I feel over whelmed and don't know where to start and want to throw my hands up and say: I GIVE UP. But I can't. Because I need the job (see aforementioned house buying) and we need the benefits that my job provides. But I swear to you, if I didn't need this job, I would not stay. I know my coworker is going to double down on his efforts to find something else and that makes me feel all sweaty and nervous with panic. OMG I do not want him to leave. But I understand why he wants to. It is seriously fucked up.

Blech. No more of that. It's depressing.

Circling back to birthday talk. I am not one for parties in my honor. I don't like all the people looking at me. I don't like to be the center of attention in that way. So when my husband asked what I wanted to do and then stopped me and said "before you answer, just keep in mind that other people want to do things for your birthday and maybe you could consider them before you say anything." which was his way of saying we're going to do something and it will involve more than our small little three person family. Last year I told my husband on my 40th we could have a party. It was the only way I could guarantee that he would not throw me a surprise party, because that kind of shit is what my nightmares are made of. I do not want a surprise party. Ever. So I told him go ahead, plan a party. Except we started the whole house buying thing and he is a dude and can only do one thing at a time, so there was no big 40th birthday bash. HA. I win! But there was a dinner with my dad and step mom, my sister in law and brother in law, and my best friend and her troop of kids. All total there were 12 of us for dinner, and while it was fun, at one point I escaped to the bathroom to be alone. All of the noise and people and chaos got to me and I needed to GET AWAY. Events like that always leave me feeling like I didn't get to talk to anyone about anything. I have the toddler I'm trying to manage, I'm trying to make sure I hug and talk to everyone and in the end, I don't feel like I got to connect with anyone. I didn't get to visit with my dad and step mom very much, or my in laws, or ... anyone. But as long as everyone else had a great time, I guess that's what matters. Wow. I sound like a sad doormat. It's not like that. Really.

Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving morning and the husband and baby are asleep. The house is quiet, except for the occasional meow from one of the cats. This is going to be one of the more quiet Thanksgivings I've had in my life. I won't be driving out to my cousins for the big family feast. And to be honest, I'm not that bummed about it. It's a large crowd (I bet they end up with 30+ people) and while that many people has an energy and buzz that can be fun, for me, I prefer the smaller crowd. Where you can actually sit and relax and enjoy the company of the people you are with. The larger gatherings mean you see a lot of people, but you don't really get to enjoy their company because the level of chaos is just too great. Big crowds of people aren't my thing, even if the majority of those people are my relatives. Sometimes especially if those people are relatives. While I love my family because ...  well, they are family and that's what you do,  I don't always like being around them all at once like that. There is a false sense of closeness when the reality is, very few on that side of the family know how to let people get close. From the outside it looks warm and cozy and fun. But you pull back the curtain and you have a lot of people just faking the niceness and family togetherness thing because that's what's expected. There are things I will miss. Like seeing my Grandparents. They are the only Grandparents I have and while our relationship has never been close the way other people are close to their Grandparents, I do love them, and I do understand that their time here is limited. They are both well into their 80's and they probably won't be around much longer. I'm not being morbid. That's just math. And reality. No one lives forever. Of all of my Grandparents, it was my Dad's mother who I felt the closest too and she has been dead now for 3 years. Maybe I felt close to her because we are the most alike, in looks and sometimes in personality. Or maybe it was just that she was the most accessible. The most willing to open her arms and give hugs and let you hold hands with her on the couch while she and my Granddaddy watched football. I have more childhood memories of being with them in their home than my other Grandparents. I have more stories to remember with fondness. Wow. I miss them both terribly right now. I didn't expect that. But I do. I miss my Granddaddy's Louisiana twang. I miss how my Grandmother smelled like a mix of Ponds Cold Cream, perfume and tobacco. And I best stop this trip down memory lane of I will make myself sad. And today is not a day for reflective sadness!

Go forth and count your blessings.

Arms Out Like Frankenstein

The family Christmas card picture taking scheduled for last Saturday was a huge FAIL. Not because of us, but because JC Penny really likes to over book itself and even though we had an appointment it was going to be a 45 min. wait. Um. No. Not going to happen. So they offered to move our appointment to first thing Sunday, which we did, but I will say, it was highly inconvenient and I am not crazy about the pictures but WHATEVER, we are done. I will pick them up next week and mail those bitches out and be DONE. The perfectionist in me is kicking and screaming about this less than perfect picture, but some other voice in my head that seems to be gaining volume these days is like: Just Fucking Do It For The Love Of All That Is Holy. JESUS. (Yes, I have voices in my head. Shut up about it.) Maybe it's motherhood that has forced that perfectionist bitch to STFU, I don't know, but I kinda like it. It doesn't mean that I'm happy with less than perfect it just means I'm not willing to spend a whole bunch of time I don't have fucking around and trying to get things "just so" when "good enough" will do just fine.

I have resisted writing about this but... I think we found a house. OMFG! I am so nervous / scared / excited about the idea and about the house and I don't want to get too attached because I know that anything can happen and something could come up that takes this house off the table, but ohhhhh mannnnn I so love the house. Specifically, the backyard. People! It is awesome! I will not say anymore, because I'm so afraid I'm going to jinx it.

Last week I walked into my kids daycare class and my son ran, arms out like Frankenstein, mouth open in a big toothy smile and gave me the most gigantic hug. It was awesome. He's been Sir Hugs Momma A Lot lately and it's really fantastic. While hugging my son, one of the little boys in his class, who is cute as hell was crying and the teacher was in the middle of diaper duty and so I sat down and talked to the little one and tried to distract him so he would stop screaming his head off until the teacher could finish the diaper changing.  I don't know if that's an ok thing to do. I never know what the lines are when it comes to the other kids in class, but honestly, if a mom walked in and the teacher was tied up and my kid was crying, I'd hope that mom would try and help my kid get a hold of himself. I've met this little boys mom once (although if you put a gun to my head and asked me her name, I would be a dead person, because I have no idea!) and our boys sorta kinda play together, as much as 1 year olds can (which is not very much, it's more of a side by side play - not interactive) and it's so cute and sweet how they are kinda sorta friends. I guess I just don't know what the rules are for parents when it comes to daycare, which is odd since I spent two summers working at a day care while in college, so you think I'd remember what we expected from the parents. But alas. I don't. I blame the pot. And alcohol. But mostly the pot. Oh ok. FINE. It's old age.